


Shouldn't throw stones

by Trojie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drugged Sex, M/M, Roofies, Rough Sex, Soulless Sam Winchester, Vampires, Very Dubious Consent, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:57:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets roofied by a vengeful vampire. He's giving out all the wrong signals and Sam's got no soul to tell him what not to do in this situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shouldn't throw stones

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by that fabulous enabler and donater of amazing ideas, Kissyn.
> 
> Written for my hurt-comfort bingo wildcard square: prompt used is _love spell / potion gone wrong_

Dean says 'I'm going out,' and Sam just shrugs at him, sprawled on a motel bed.

They've been hunting a vampire with a weird MO in Bumfuck Nowhere, Arkansas, and Dean needs a drink. He's tired. When they finally took her head off, half Dean's relief was because now there's no more reason for Sam to interact with civilians. Sam's a better hunter without his soul, yeah, sure, but he's harder work when they're not actively on something's trail. 

Tomorrow morning they're going to get the hell out of Dodge, but right now, Dean needs a goddamn drink.

'And what am I gonna do?' Sam asks. He squints at Dean and raises an eyebrow, questioning. 

As if Dean cares, as long as he stays where he's s'posed to be. 'Just stay here and, I dunno, watch _Casa Erotica_ or something. Anything that isn't gonna lead to you knifing innocent people.' 

Dean doesn't trust soulless Sam as far as he could throw him.

'I don't knife innocent people,' says Sam, but he says it like the unspoken rider is _unless I think they deserve it_ and not _how could you think that, Dean?_ 'Fine,' Sam says when it's clear Dean isn't gonna budge. 'Don't be out all night, we need to keep moving first thing tomorrow.'

'Amen to that,' Dean says, and pockets his keys. 

***

One drink always ends up coming in so many goddamn glasses. The last few of them get bought for him by a very pretty girl, and he thinks she looks kind of familiar, maybe, but hey, he's been through every shithole town in America at least once, it feels like, and there's only so many ways to have a face. 

The pretty girl leads him out into the next-door alleyway, and once he's started moving he realises his head is spinning way too fast for this to be the whiskey. It takes an embarrassingly long time for him to catch onto the fact that something isn't quite right here. 

'Didn't I kill you already today?' he asks, and that wasn't what he meant to say. 'Fuck, what did you slip me? I feel all -'

'You killed my sister,' says the - oh fuck, the vampire, gripping his jaw and drawing him down towards her like they're gonna make out. 'So now I'm going to kill you, Dean Winchester. Tasty, tasty revenge.'

Dean dodges her mouth and scrabbles for the knife in his belt. 'So that's what - you slip guys magical roofies and screw them and eat them to death with your _sister_? That's sick, lady.' He tries to knee her in the groin, which works pretty good on girl-shaped things too, but she's got him clamped against the wall.

'Those in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, honey,' she says with a dirty-nasty smile, just before the hand she was disregarding comes round and nails her through the neck with the knife, drags forward, and then Dean's wearing her blood and she's lost her head, literally. 

Dean's fogging in and out of lucid, slumped against the wall, and surely it'll wear off now, it has to, right? He killed the monster. He palms himself hard, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, trying to will his stupid boner away, but it won't go, and fuck, he needs, he really - 

Sammy. Sammy will know how to fix this. Dean just needs to find Sammy, and not get fucking stopped on his way back to the motel, because if someone so much as touches him right now he will not be responsible for his actions. 

What the actual fuck did she put in his drink?

Come on, Dean. Find Sammy. Yeah. 

***

By the time he gets home Dean is almost out of his mind, digging his fingernails into his palms just to stay kind of in control. This must have been the perfect hunting strategy - make you wild, make you crave for _hurt_ and _wrong_ and _take me_ , and Dean kind of likes it like that anyway … no wonder those vamps got their teeth in so many poor saps. 

The motel door lock is too much trouble, so Dean kicks at it until the door swings open. Somewhere on the walk home, 'find Sammy, get cured' just became 'find Sammy', and Dean is nothing right now if not goal-oriented. 

'Dean?' Sam's on his feet the second Dean staggers in. 'She got you, didn't she?'

That seems like a weird thing to say, but Dean has other priorities. He thought - God, he thought Sam would be able to help him but now that he sees him he wants him, like hungry, starving, _wants_ him, all wrong because Sam's his brother, but Dean wants it so bad. And Sam's a fucking giant and he could hold Dean down so hard, scratch this itch so good for him - 

Christ, he can't think like this - _God Sammy don't touch me right now, I don't think I can hold out if you_ -

Sam grabs Dean by the shoulders and shakes him. 'Did you get her?' he asks. 'The other vamp, is she dead?' 

_How does he know?_ Dean thinks, but then Sam's thumb grazes bare skin at his collarbone. Dean's control snaps like shotgun recoil, his knees almost give out, he's so hard it _hurts_ \- 

'Sammy, I need to - let me go -' Sam's eyes narrow, he puts his palm on the stretch of skin between the open edges of Dean's collar, almost over his throat, almost over his thumping heart. 

_'Did you kill her?'_ he growls, and Dean's bones turn to hot, willing lead. 

'Cut her head off,' Dean says. 'Wearing enough goddamn blood to prove it. Please, Sammy, I just need a moment here -'

Maybe if he jerks off enough, maybe - he doesn't even care that Sam's here, he'll lock himself in the john and get this over with -

'I know what you need,' Sam says, faster than should be possible. 'It's okay, Dean, I got you. I'll take care of you.' He catches Dean around his hips and hitches him high, takes three wild steps with Dean's legs around his waist like a vise, and drops them on the nearest bed. He presses Dean down hard, and it's _perfect_ , just for a moment - perfect and bad, nasty, wrong. They're brothers, for crap's sake, but Dean's craving-starving and Sam's offering - 

Dean rips at Sam's plaid shirt two-handed, Sam's buttons spraying away like buckshot. 'Gotta die sometime, right?' Dean babbles, arching to let Sam drag his jeans down, trying to kick his own boots off. 'Can't believe a fucking vampire got me, of all things -'

'You're not gonna die, Dean,' says Sam from where he's slid down, somewhere down near Dean's wildly pistoning hips, trying to find friction in air and nothing and desperation. He wrenches Dean's boots and jeans and socks free in two movements, crawls back up Dean's body. 'She roofied you, she didn't poison you. You come, no-one eats you, you'll live. It's just some witch's brew. You'll live,' he says again, pressing Dean harder into the mattress 'til he stops bucking and grinding. 

'Doesn't feel like it,' Dean says, because his skin is burning off him, he'd swear it, except for where Sam's got his huge hands, cool and calm and collected and calculating. 'Get your fucking pants off, Sammy -'

'Shut up and let me work,' says Sam, kicking his jeans off, and he goddamn rolls them over, sits up so Dean ends up riding his lap like a cheap stripper, spine curved and lax and thighs open to some stupid angle just to fit Sam between them. Dean has to catch his arms around Sam's shoulders to stay upright, and being so spread-wide makes him moan louder than he meant. He turns his face away, knows he's blushing fit to cook breakfast on, and can't stop the noises as Sam strokes down his back to his ass. 

Sam's fingers are wet. Dean looks up - the dresser is loaded with lube and condoms. He'd ask questions but his words are gone and Sam goes from stroking to two fingers at once and ohfuck. Oh. Fuck. 

'Relax,' says Sam, 'This is what you need, right? She made you want to get nailed hard, didn't she. Don't worry, I got you -' and he takes it deeper, to two knuckles, and Dean flexes and pushes and tries every slutty thing he ever learnt from girls in lapdancing bars to make him hit the right place. Sam laughs, shifts the way he's moving so he can slide two fingers out and three fingers in. 

Dean can't hold himself up properly any more, draped over Sam's chest and breathing into his collarbones, ass gaping, back arched, just give it to me, give it to me body language because he can't even talk any more. 

'Do you want me to fuck you?' Sam asks. 'The lore says you need it. And I gotta say, Dean, I want to. The way you take it - Jeez. I kinda can't believe we never did this before.'

'Brothers ...' Dean wheezes, as if he cares right now. 'Not. Right ...'

'Lucky for you I'm having a hard time with this whole right and wrong issue, huh,' says Sam. 'You want my cock, Dean?'

The words make Dean's whole body twitch hot, because yeah, he does, he fucking does, but he knows then that this isn't Sammy, not properly. Because soulless Sam? Soulless, Sam doesn't care. And he spreads Dean wide with three fingers and gropes for a condom, and Dean hangs his head and pants through the stretch, and finally _knows_ this isn't his brother. 

Sam's got the condom on, lube, and his slippery hands grab Dean's hips and pull him down. 'You want my cock?' he asks again.

Dean feels the catch of the head of it at his hole and says 'Yeah,' and 'Fuck,' and 'You asshole, you set me up -' when Sam's half-in and Dean looks in his eyes and realises. First he was bait, and now he's - 

'Hey, it worked, didn't it?' Sam says, grabbing Dean's hips, yanking him down and screwing himself up to meet in the middle. Dean makes this noise like _uunnh_ fuck - 'I knew she'd go for you. You're totally the type they were after, plus you ganked her sister. I got blood samples from the morgue; they were lacing the drinks with some witch's potion, one-hit wonder -

Sam's starting to sound breathless now, and Dean just wishes he would shut up, let them have this vicious fuck and be done with it. 'Sam -' 

'You just gotta come, Dean, that's it. Breaks the spell.'

Dean's ready to. So ready to. He can't squirm down hard enough, his own weight isn't cutting it, not when everything in his blood and his head wants to get pounded to bruises and beyond. He doesn't wanna ask for anything, he can't bear the thought of begging, but this isn't _enough_ and he wants it to be over and he wants it _more, harder, harder -_

He's saying it out loud before he realises. 

'Yeah, okay, okay,' says Sam. His pupils are so dilated-black and wide that if Dean didn't have one hand over his tattoo he'd wonder if maybe some hell-spawn had slipped behind his brother's eyes. But no. The person that drags out of Dean and throws him over onto his belly, blankets him, shoves back in so hard he mewls - that's Sam, all Sam. Just not all _of_ Sam. 

Dean's pinned down and fighting it just to make Sam push him harder and harder, and he was right. Sam scratches this itch just perfect, so good, presses down to make it hurt just enough. And maybe it's the drug talking but he doubts, really fucking doubts, that even two hot vampire chicks literally eating him up could have made him this wild for it.

Sam's hand comes up between Dean's shoulderblades, soothes and smooths through the hair at the nape of his neck, and then without warning shoves him down, face mashed into the mattress, the span between Dean's shoulderblades covered by the spread of Sam's palm, thumb to pinky like Dean's spine is a piano he can play. 'Like that?' he murmurs, almost thoughtful, and if Dean thought he knew what full was, what _well-fucked_ felt like before, he was wrong. 'What do you need?' Sam asks, grinding into Dean's ass. 'You need to be touched, Dean? Or can I get you off like this, can I just - ' the bed thuds, thuds into the wall and Dean scrabbles for purchase, to fend his head off the headboard as Sam pounds into him without anything approaching mercy, the same way he takes on a monster.

'I'm gonna fuck this out of you, Dean,' Sam grits out into the skin and sweat of Dean's shoulderblade. 'I said I'd take care of it and I will, I swear-'

He's already moving his other hand across and down, but he's too late, Dean's over the edge, coming his brains out, gone and done and with Sam bearing down heavy, sweating, panting through his own orgasm all over Dean's skin. 

Neither of them moves, not for a long time. They're a sticky, sweating mess. Dean's got up close and personal with a lot of Sam before - wiped his tears when he was a kid, held his hair back from his face when he was a hungover teenager with his head in the toilet, cleaned up more of his blood than he likes remembering, but this -

 _I kinda can't believe we never did this before_ says Sam incredulously over and over in Dean's head. This is another line they've crossed. 

Dean kind of sees the shape of what the vamp meant, about glass houses.


End file.
